


Son, What is Your Alibi?

by Peccati



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - American Revolution, Alternate Universe - Human, Blood, Child Percy, Gore, History, mean british general, smol percy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-18 02:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9362009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peccati/pseuds/Peccati
Summary: General Thomas Gage has no sympathy for these Bostonian revolutionaries. He will prove his point. Ruthlessly.





	

If I remember correctly, I was merely 7 years old when the first whipping in the central square happened. A General Thomas Gage had ordered it in an attempt to frighten Samuel Adams out of rebelling against late 1700’s Britain. I still remember the words his lieutenant spoke, his voice echoing past the murmur bouncing about the square as my sweet mother clamped down upon my small hand.

“For too long, this city has operated unchecked. No more! Boston will know order.”

Then General Gage had emerged from the court house at the head of the square, gray wig resting upon his head and full regalia adorning his chest. The younger man beside him paused to greet his superior before continuing:

“Let it be known! Any man found in violation of His Majesty’s laws, will be dealt with without mercy. This man,” He gestured to the thin frame of a beggar chained to a post in the middle of the square, the back of his thin shirt torn for the occasion, “was discovered not hours ago stealing...from one of His Majesty’s ships. His punishment will be swift and just.”

Here he paused again, casting an almost pitying glance at the man upon the post (but what pity can he offer?) before nodding at a soldier, newly arrived from within the ranks of his fellow redcoats. Said soldier, offering one scrutinizing look at the chained man’s pale back, raised his hand, the right, and brandished a two foot long leather whip. As a gasp sounded from my mother above me, I watched in innocent fascination as the many leather ends swung down with such force and speed, and bruises, already bloodied seemed to appear suddenly upon the thief’s back. Again and again the man with the whip scrunched his face and threw his arm down, blood flying from the ends of the grimy whip as it made sickening contact with the dripping back of the chained man. My mother’s hand crushed mine as she listened, a hand over her mouth, to the cries of pain after each lash. 

Others around us turned and pleaded with the grim faces of the soldiers blocking the population of Boston within the square to please, please let them leave, let them out! Why were they making them watch this?! Still others remained frozen, tears pooling, some flowing as the agonizing sounds of pain launched from the thief’s throat.

Finally, ten lashes I’d counted before the whish of the leather braids came only from the echoes in my ears. I opened my eyes, not having realized they’d been shut, to see the lieutenant standing before me, his hand raised slightly, telling the torturer to stop. His eyes drifted to the General and I could tell from his rigid posture, he’d thought the chained man had had enough of a beating. However, for the General, this wasn’t about punishing a small thievery and getting on with everyone’s lives. No, this was about threatening the rebels within the square. This was a promise of pain to any who opposed him or the King.

With a small incline of his head, which the younger man before me hesitantly relayed to the whipping man, the small breath of relief was once again stolen from our revolutionary town. The blood dripping from the maroon whip spattered across the cobble stones once more as the whipping man raised his torturous hand and struck it down upon the tatters that were the remnants of the thief. Cries from the wives, mothers, and young men filled the square one last time and it sounded as though the town itself was weeping for the man as he could weep no longer for himself. What man should be shamed enough that no one, not even strangers would cry for his pain?

Ten more lashes I counted before a mourning silence descended upon the streets of Boston. This silence so quiet that the unsteady plink.. plink-plink of each fat, burgundy drop of beggar’s blood was heard leaving the already grim-slathered, sweat-soaked, tear-stained strands of dark leather.

The lieutenant began again, a somber note in his previously confident speech, “As you can see, recent events have forced our hand. However, if you comply, there will be no need for such unpleasantness.” Then to the guards, he ordered almost woefully, “Take him away.”

Yes, I do remember. I had just turned 7, so proud and feeling ready to face the world alone. Though, I was a mere boy when my innocence was stolen by a General Thomas Gage, a man set on terror and a man who had held my other shoulder proudly as he ordered the whip upon my loyalty; a man, my father, who I could not see as anything but a ruthlessly efficient manipulator.

**Author's Note:**

> Written many years ago, just posting it now. Title from The Long Black Veil by Johnny Cash. idk I think I was practicing descriptions..?


End file.
